Oh My Darling
by Tusk Of Thyme
Summary: Charlie's life before, during and after Welton. "The scene that greeted him in the kitchen was one he had seen many times before although it never ceased to shock, terrify and anger him."


As soon as the fight escalated into sounds of screaming, the brunette boy flung back the heavy duvet that covered him in bed. He didn't have to go into his older brother's room across the hall to know that Robert had left a long time ago in his car. He never stayed for the scathing conflicts between their drunken American father and pleading Polish mother. When the screaming started, the fight escalated into a physical altercation-something Charlie fought his best to prevent.

The scene that greeted him in the kitchen was one he had seen many times before although it never ceased to shock, terrify and anger him. His mother was still dressed from the dinner party that his parents had come home from two hours ago, make up ran in tear tracks down her face as she screamed, babbling pleading Polish phrases and trying to shield herself in the corner. His father wasn't exceptionally tall, but his intimidating broad shoulders and the body that supported them made up for it. As it was, his face was red from drink and angry from whatever had transpired before Charlie showed up. His usually neatly combed and oiled hair was out of place and curled from sweat. A hand was raised to back hand strike his wife before it was interrupted by Charlie's sharp bark of protest as he materialized in the line of his father's attack.

"Hit _me_!" He shouted at his father and protected the shivering figure that was his mother. It was impossible to stop the man when he was drunk, the best Charlie could do was redirect it. There was no hesitation at the request and suddenly Charlie was picking himself off the floor, reengaged in the almost nightly dance with the man he recognized as his father. "She didn't do anything wrong, it was _me_." His face stung and throbbed, he bit his lip to stall any rising feelings of nervous anxiety as he steered the angry drunk away. His mother was still huddled, sobbing convulsively and reciting the Lord's Prayer in a Polish whisper.

To an extent his words were true, Charlie more or less was one of the initiating factors that started fights between his parents. He had never fit in with his "picture perfect" family, his grandparents detested him on both sides (was it his fault that as a child he was terrified of them? Apparently) and it was mostly for his unruliness. While his cousins and older brother were patiently learning from their older family members, Charlie had escaped and ended up making acquaintances and friends that were seen as less than favorable. He had been working the bars since he was eleven in the company of other immigrant ruffians that Dalton's wouldn't be caught dead with. It was bad enough that his father had married a _polack_-nevermind that she was the most sought after operating room nurse-the stress he endured from his family was enough to drive a man to drink. Cognac was his favorite poison.

His knees shook as he gave the adult man a shove-just enough to make him teeter in his inebriated state and enough to spur into giving chase. Luckily Charlie was not only quick on his feet but well experienced in this cat-and-mouse game he played to steer his father away from his sobbing wife.

Charlie loved his father, he really did. Not many people would understand that if they were watching the dance between father and son. It was a mode of survival-as a sober father, Mr. Dalton was a successful CEO of a hose clamp company and as a smart man he had many of his own successful patents. He adored his children; the summer home in New York had a tennis court, a full volleyball court and a hill for sledding that he himself designed and put together. As it was, the house they lived in that saw the drunken skirmishes fall had a full badminton court as well. No one really knew why it had to dissolve into what it did.

Mr. Dalton grew weary of the game and Charlie made the mistake of leading him past that stairs. Instead of following his son, he made a sharp, stumbling dash up the stairs into the master bedroom. Charlie knew what was coming next. The loud thumping was unmistakable as suitcases were thrown to the floor.

To prevent the humiliating squabble that would follow, he returned to his mother's side and cradled her gently, trying to shush away her dying sobs. The pristine bun her hair had been twisted into hung from one side of her head in a frayed and blonde lump, the light aquamarine skirt and matching jacket was smeared from her crying and wiping away the tears. She was also missing one gold heel. "_Matka_," he cooed gently, addressing her in her native tongue to further soothe her, "It's alright now-" She interrupted him, inquiring for the location of her husband. He sighed and tried to distract her but her questioning was too persistent. Finally, she grabbed his arm. Charlie didn't know if the pink nails digging into him were intentional or not but she had resumed her authoritative position the best she could and demanded an answer. The heavy sound of suitcases being dragged down the stairs was her answer-immediately she screamed. Charlie was released and was helpless as he watched his mother lunge herself at the departing head of house. "_Proszę nie opuszczają_!"She begged him to stay and desperately tried to barr him from opening the front door. Mr. Dalton, no longer interested in violence, simply shook her off and continued he determined stride towards the car. She followed suit, tears poured down her face, her throat was constricted and burned from all of the screaming-still, she persisted.

From the window, Charlie could see her pounding on the car door windows, "What about your sons! What about me? _Kocham cię_! I love you, _Duza_! _Proszę_! _Proszę, proszę, proszę_!" She wailed at her husband without restraint, never mind that it was after midnight. The car started and her pleading only ascended with the rumble of the engine as he peeled out of the drive way, his wife chased him down the street.

Charlie watched out the window as his mother tripped over her stockings, only to stumble back to her feet and resume chasing her husband. His dark eyes were immeasurably sad. What happened at home, _stayed_ at home and there never seemed to be an end to it in sight.

* * *

Based on a true story.

I am loathe to say I can't make any update promises. I'm sure you are all used to it by now :p


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